Mystrious
by Kyra-sensei
Summary: It takes a mystery for an investigation and an investigation for the truth. The question is, why kind of mystery? SherlockXOC


**Authors note: Hi guys! It's me … here's my first fanfiction about Sherlock. Hope you guys like it! Please review and tell me what you think? Enjoy!**

**I don't own Sherlock. **

**Chapter one**

**We have a case**

"My dearest apologies Miss." I could hardly hear his voice, not because he was speaking softly, quite the opposite. His voice was well projected and he was speaking very clearly. He always did. My heart beat pounding in my ears, making it difficult to hear.

I could feel hands, warm, soft, large, wrap around the top of my arms, making me seem extra small. I wasn't really, not that small, his hands were just large and he was tall. My body felt limp and I couldn't fight it when he began to pull me away. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight in front of me.

He took me around the corner and leaned me against the wall. The light from the street shone onto us. I had tears in my eyes but they seemed to dry before they fell. It felt like my eyes were glued open and it burned, but I hadn't complete control of my body as yet. I was blank. He was saying something, but I couldn't hear what he was saying.

I looked up at him. At first glance he had thin lips, but if you got a closer look they were more full, but not plump and prominent cheek bones. He had dark curly hair and blue eyes, but often they looked green or even grey. He had a straight nose and no facial flaws. His eye lashes were long and dark and his eyebrows were lighter than his hair and well plucked.

His body was toned and he was tall, as I mentioned before. He wore a suit, covered by a long black coat. he had smiling wrinkles around his eyes when he smiled and dimples. He had a thin face and perfect teeth, but he was gorgeous. He had a deep voice that even though usually spoke unintentional intelligent insults was oddly reassuring. His lips moved as he spoke and instead of hearing what he said, I saw what he said.

"Elisabeth, say something. You are in shock. Can you hear me? Elisabeth?" Even though I could tell what he was saying, my body wasn't working with me and I couldn't reply. I couldn't tell him that I could hear him. His hands were still on my arms and I could feel them tightening slightly.

He looked intently into my eyes and he didn't blink as he spoke. He kept on repeating things. I wanted to reply to him, but I couldn't. He began pulling me away from the wall and put his arm around my shoulders. He stopped and we got into a taxi. He put his coat around me. I could feel its warmth. He kept his arm around my shoulders and rubbed it.

We got to the apartment, his apartment, on Baker Street and he took my upstairs. He sat me down on Watson's chair by the fire place and Mrs Hudson brought me a cup of tea. They were speaking, I didn't know what about.

I couldn't get the sight out of my head. The body, the blood, the unrecognisable face …

I felt my body go weak and I felt tired, very tired. I could feel my eyes drifting. I hardly noticed him rushing to kneel in front of me. He put his warm hands on my shoulders and everything went black.

*48 hours earlier*

"Come in." A man said. His hair was a mix between white, grey and brown, but he wasn't old, not even middle aged yet. His eyes were blue and he had a squared face with blue eyes. He wasn't very tall and he was bulky but not fat. I smiled kindly as he let me in and led me upstairs.

"I'm Doctor John Watson." He introduced as we walked upstairs. I smiled at him and shook his outstretched hand.

"Elisabeth." I responded. He opened the door and allowed me to go in first. A tall man stood in front of a fire place, his hands behind his back and his back turned to us. There were two chairs by the fire place on the left of the room, both slightly slanted and facing each other. There were small lamp tables beside both chairs and a rug. There was a window behind the chair on the right. There was a two seated couch pushed against the wall on the right of the room with papers pinned to the wall behind it. There was a rectangular table in the middle of the room, pressed against the wall with one wooden chair. The walls and floor was made of dark wood.

"Have a seat Miss Walker." The man said. I listened and sat down on the couch against the wall.

"I do not need to introduce myself as Sherlock Homes, you already know that. State your case."

"My brother's missing. He was scared that someone was going after him and he told me about it. The next day he was gone. Coal dust in his place."

"Coal dust?" He turned around to face me. He was very good looking, his pictures certainly not serving his features any justice.

"I didn't think it was anything serious since he works in construction and he usually has coal dust on his clothes when he comes home, but what confuses me is what was in the dust."

"Carbon." He exclaimed. He seemed to be thinking aloud rather than speaking to anyone. I could understand how he got to the answer, considering there was still traces of the dust on the knee of my jeans, not obviously there, but they were there. He at Watson who was leaning against the post of the wall with his arms crossed. There was an opening leading into a kitchen with a rectangular table in the middle of the room. There were many things on the table, books, plates, chemistry equipment.

"We have a case." Homes said. I was quite surprised actually. I'd heard things about how he found things boring and dismissed it in the first glance. I was relieved that he was going to help me. I really had worries about my brother. He was the only family I had left.

"Thank you Mr Homes." I thanked with a small smile. A lady walked into the room before anything else could be said. She was old and short, but didn't look exactly frail. She held a tray in her hands with a tea set steaming with boiling water.

"Oh, who's this?" She asked.

"A client Mrs Hudson." Homes replied seeming a little annoyed at the obvious question.

"Everyone has a name Sherlock." Mrs Hudson said, placing the tray on the coffee table She looked at me with a friendly smile.

"What's your name dear?" She asked me. I returned the kind smile.

"I'm Elisabeth mam, it's lovely to meet you."  
"Please, call me Mrs Hudson. Would you like tea dear?"

"Uh, no thank you. I actually have to get going." I said and got up, straightening my coat and putting on my red scarf.

"You cannot leave yet, I require more information from you." Homes stated. I looked at him. His hair was just a little bit wet, indicating he had showered a little while ago. His shoes were well polished which meant that he took care in his appearance, but wasn't exactly the most neat person at the looks of the apartment.

"You're the great Sherlock Homes. I believe you don't need my help. However, if you need me, you'll find me." I said. Watson showed me out and I thanked him.

"Have a lovely day Doctor Watson." I bid him with a smile. He returned it and nodded, closing the door behind me. I walked down the street and made my way to a cafe were I was meeting a friend.

He, as always, was late. Punctuality wasn't exactly his strong point. I sat down at a table and ordered my usual of fish and chips and his usual of chips and a burger. I was eating at my chips when he came in and sat down.

"So sorry I'm late." He apologised. I smiled at him and he seemed to pause, but sat down and took a sip from his coffee. I didn't really like coffee and I pulled my face at the smell of it. He set the coffee down and looked seriously at me.

"Has there been any news about William?" He asked.

"I'm afraid not. I met with Sherlock Homes before I came here." He snorted. I knew that he didn't like Sherlock Homes.

"I bet he told you to go away and said that the case is boring." He rolled his eyes. He had gone to Homes once for a case about his girlfriend - ex-girlfriend - that was unusually secretive. Homes didn't take the case.

"Not actually Michael. He took the case." Michael almost choked on his coffee and accidentally spat a bit of it out. I gave him a napkin and his face flushed red. I wondered if it was from anger or embarrassment.

"I'm glad at that. I'm very worried about my brother." I continued to say. Michael didn't look very happy. Anger aged him, but I had known him long enough not to be intimidated by him.

He had brunette hair and dark green eyes with a lovely smile and straight teeth. He had a small scar a his right cheek - he was abused by his step father when he was younger and a shard of glass was shoved into his face - and he had strong facial features. He was tall, about the height of Sherlock, but he was skinny and he had a slightly squed nose from it being broken.

"Don't trust that Sherlock Homes Beth." He was the only person that called me Beth. It was a slightly mistake when we had first met. He heard my name to be Beth instead of Elisabeth and it kind of stuck. We met several years ago when my parents had died. I was only eight years old. My brother was twelve. We moved to and from foster homes together. One of the homes was Michael's. None of the families adopted us. When William turned eighteen, he and I were separated until I was sixteen and he had enough money to take me in and take care of me.

We'd been living together since then. I was now 21 and he was 25, but now he was missing. My parents had gone missing before they were killed. They were missing for two days before they ended up in our house with stab wounds. Both were lying in a pool of their own blood and their faces were badly and brutally beaten.

Needless to say I was traumatised, considering I was the one that found them. After a lot of therapy, I still had nightmares. A lot of the times I couldn't sleep at night, or at least not well since I had those nightmares. Nightmares of the blood, their beaten faces ...

"Beth? Beth? Are you listening to me?" I looked up, surprised and it took a while to process.

"I'm sorry Michael, I blanked out."

"I realised. You do that sometimes, even when I met you those years ago you did it." He stated.

"The therapist says it's a coping method of some sort." I told him, though I told him many times before.

"Anyway, as I was saying, you shouldn't trust him. He can be very deceiving and I don't want you to get hurt." He said. I laughed aloud and he frowned.

"Oh Michael, you speak of him as if you've known him for as long as you've known me. You just don't like him so you don't want me to get involved with him." I said and ate another chip.

"You're being too trusting." He stated with a frown.

"You're being too dramatic and too paranoid." I said back. He sighed.

"Listen Michael, Sherlock Homes might be the only source I have of finding my brother. I don't want to lose the last family I have left. Excluding you." It was true. Michael and I were so close he was like my brother. I loved him like a brother. Something flashed in his eyes.

"What book did you read?" I asked.

"It's so interesting how you know I was reading. Do tell me how you figured it out." He said.

"Well, I that the sleeves of your coat of crinkled in a very distinct way indicating that you were sitting in one position for a long time. I can smell the inherent smell of the library on you. I can see the recognisable marks on your nose from your glasses and the most obvious is your reading glasses sticking out from your coat." I explained. He looked at me with what seemed to be admiration.

"Take that and times it by 300, then you'll get Sherlock Homes." I mentioned, taking a bite of another chip.

"Monday Mourning." He said. "To answer your question."

"You've read that book three times before already."

"I know. It's one of my favourites." He replied, taking another sip from his coffee. I knew that Michael loved books. He and I shared that. We had quite a bit in common, sometimes we were even mistaken as brother and sister.

We had the same eyes, but mine were lighter green and we had the same tanned skin, even though we lived in England. We didn't have much of looks in common beside that. I had dark brown/black hair that was long and straight. My nose was straight and small and I was quite short. I had a hour glass figure with full, plump lips and a heart shaped face. I didn't have dimples, but I was told to have a nice smile. I wasn't that confident about my features.

"You blanked out again." He said. I looked at him and came back to reality.

"Sorry." I sat and took a bit out of another chip. He smiled at me and told me that it's fine.

"Sorry to interrupt." I heard a deep voice. A recognisable voice that I heard earlier this morning. I looked up at his blue eyes.

"Is this your brother?" Mr Homes asked. Michael snorted.

"No Mr Homes. I only have one brother and he is missing." I told him.

"You sound awfully calm for someone whose brother has gone missing." He said and looked seriously into my eyes.

"I've learn how to deal with it. Don't be fooled by my outward appearance."

"Oh but the outward appearances can tell us a lot if you look close enough. For example, I know you are right handed, I know you have trouble sleeping at night, I also know that you aren't confident about your body and that you lost both parents. I know that you are a clumsy person and that you enjoy reading. I also know that you chew on your lip when you get nervous and that you used to live in a wealthy family until your parents were murdered."

"You don't need to explain how you figured all of that out. Besides, outward looks don't say everything, or explain everything." I said, taking a sip of my tea.

"Ms Walker, I must ask you a few questions." He said.

"Do you mind?" Mr Homes turned to Michael, who was glaring.

"Yes, in fact, I do." Michael replied.

"You don't like me because I wouldn't take the case about your girlfriend. Obviously an affair." Homes responded.

"It's fine Michael. I'll see you later." I told him as I got up. I handed him some money.

"No no, it's fine, I'll pay." He said with a smile and then glared at Mr Homes, who didn't look bothered at all. I smiled and thanked him and left the cafe with Sherlock Homes.

"What is it you wanted to ask me Mr Homes?" I inquired as we walked down the street. While pulling my scarf closer to my neck he started speaking.

"Your brother was a drug addict. He was involved with some dangerous people." He said.

"Yes, but that was more than more than four years ago. He stopped and hasn't picked up anything since then." I responded plainly.

"Do you think this might have something to do with it?"

"Like I said Mr Homes, he hasn't been involved for five years."

"That doesn't answer my question Ms Walker."

"I cannot answer your question Mr Homes." He stopped and I did the same. He looked closely at me.

"Do you have doubts that your brother still continued his addiction?"

"Not at all. However, more than often, things are proven false in investigation. It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is where William is, why and if he's okay." I replied simply. He didn't say anything for a few moments as he just looked at me, very closely.

"Tell me how your parents died."

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"The case of your parents murder was closed without being solved. Perhaps the murder of your parents and the disappearance of your brother are linked." He explained.

"You think that someone might want to get rid of my entire family?"

"It's a possibility. The question is why."

"Yes Mr Homes. Why would my brother go missing so many years after my parents death? Why would anyone want to get rid of my family?"

"Your family had money. That's always a possible motive." He said.

"My parents went missing for two days before I found them dead in our family library. They were stabbed to death and their faces were beaten so badly I couldn't recognise them."

"How did you know it was them?" He asked. I didn't like that these memories were resurfacing.

"I don't need a face to recognise something. There are other characteristics I take note of. You should know what I mean." I responded and continued to walk.

"Are you familiar with the science of deduction?" He asked me.

"What does that have to do with the disappearance of my brother?" I responded.

"Nothing."

"Yes Mr Homes. I am familiar with the science of deduction. Everyone that knows about Sherlock Homes knows about the science of deduction."

"Not everyone." He corrected.

"Fair enough, but they must know something about how you solve crimes so quickly and so efficiently. It could be born intelligence or a natural gift, but even those have to be developed."

"I know that. I've already considered it."

"I have no doubt you have." I stated.

"I saw you looking around the apartment. What have you deduced about it?"

"What is the purpose of this game Mr Homes?" I asked, stopping and looking at him.

"It's more of an experiment than a game."

"I love to know that you think of me as a test subject." I continued walking.

"If there are no further questions, relating to the disappearance of my brother, I am going to go. I have things to do." I continued to say.

"You said that you have learnt to deal with the disappearance of your brother and that is why you are so calm. How is it that you can be calm and be able to do work?"

"Mr Homes, if you think that I am a suspect and that I kidnapped or helped kidnap my brother, you would be wrong. Think whatever you want though. You will find out the truth soon enough. If I was involved, why would I have come to you?"

"Perhaps the humour of a psychopath."

"I can tell you right now, please, go ahead and tell me if I'm lying, that I am not involved." I told him seriously, looking into his eyes without a blink.

"You said that you aren't involved, not that you aren't Psychotic or Psychopathic." Homes stated. I sighed.

"There are many meanings for Psychotic Mr Homes. Having experienced the trauma of my parents' death must've led me into some sort of insanity or deliriousness. If I suffer from Psychosis, I'm sure you will be able to tell. However I am not very happy that you are spending so much investigating my mental state instead of investigating the disappearance of my brother."

"There you are!" Watson exclaimed as he came around the corner to where we were. He came to stand next to Homes.

"What did I miss?" Watson asked looking up at Sherlock Homes.

"Ms Walker's mental state." Watson's eyes widened.

"Homes! You can't go around asking people if they're mentally stable." He scolded under his breath.

"Well obviously Ms Walker has some mental issues." Watson elbowed him. I didn't take any offence to the potential insult.

"You didn't me to tell you that now did you Mr Homes. Now I will be on my way. Good day." I turned around and left with the voices of Doctor Watson and Mr Homes fading behind me.

It was true that I wasn't Psychopathic in the sense of violent social behaviour, however, when it came to my mental state, my sanity, I wasn't too stable. I found myself hallucinating at times which lead to hysterical hyperventilation or maybe even fainting. It was dangerous if someone wasn't there with me when I had those. I was diagnosed with a Psychosis of posttraumatic stress disorder. I often blanked or blacked out and I had flashbacks. Sometimes I got easily annoyed, but generally I was a patient person. I always felt the anniversary of my parents death to be a struggle and I usually spent that day alone, trying not to feel any emotion that would lead to pain.

I made my way to my Therapist. We had had this appointment planned from before my brother went missing and now it seemed fitting, since I was going through a hard time. From the outside it looked that nothing was wrong, but on the inside I was pouring myself with tears and screaming. I wondered why these things happened to me. What was it that I did to deserve this? I was always a good girl. I didn't deserve this.

"I've been having the same nightmare." I told her. She looked at me with that look that always went with therapists and psychologists.

"Which one is this?" She asked me in a very calm and controlled voice. It sometimes irritated me how calm and collected she was, but then I remembered that I was the same from the outside.

"I'm walking in the house and I hear a scream. It's distant, very distant, almost as if it was played in radio or on the TV instead of in real life. I felt myself panic and I start running. Originally I thought I was running away from the scream, but I was running toward it. The passage is dark and the only light source is the ray of light coming from the library door that is only slightly open. I get a bad feeling and I stop running. As I walk up to the door I notice that my knees are shaking and I feel sick with fear. I stand out of sight by the door and look in. I am forced to watch both my parents being stabbed to death. I go into the room to find that it was my brother that held the knife in his hand and he was the one that had stabbed them. I screamed and ran to him and I started hitting him, but as I saw blood leave his body did I realise that the same hand I was using to pound him had a knife in it. I got off of him and saw the blood everywhere. Blood on my hands, on his hands, on my parents, on the floor, it was everywhere. He dropped to the ground and I ran out of the room only to fall into an endless dark hole filled with fire."

As I spoke I could remember everything in the dream. The smells, the sounds, the feelings … almost as if it was all real and that it wasn't a dream. It had to be a dream because I had no memory of it and I knew that my brother hadn't killed my parents and that I hadn't killed my brother. I sat there on the red sofa, not looking at Doctor Wright, but just passed her out of the window, not that I could see anything. All I could see was the white wall of the next building.

"Elisabeth? Can you hear me?" She asked. I realised that I had blanked out again. I looked at her with an apologetic expression.

"Why do you think that you were forced to watch?" She asked me. She had kind hazel eyes with laughter in and around them. There were a few streaks of grey in her brunette hair and she had fair skin with a few freckles on her nose and she had a small nose with a petite figure.

"Forced?" I repeated.

"You said that you were forced to watch their death."

"Oh. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak or even blink. It felt like I had been frozen in time but everything else hadn't. I couldn't look away. I don't know why I was forced." I said, looking down at my hands.

"The nightmare isn't all that's bothering you, is it?" She inquired. I sighed and didn't look up to meet her eyes.

"My brother is missing. I went to Sherlock in this morning."

"What did he conclude with?"

"He's going to find my brother."

**Authors note: How was it? Let me know.**


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